


Old Ghosts

by garilin



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/F, Inspired by Night at the Museum, Post-Canon, Renegon (Mass Effect), Ruthless (Mass Effect)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 23:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15376002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/garilin/pseuds/garilin
Summary: "We do not know," Liara said. "Any time we are in a certain radius of the Conduit after hours, we come back to life.""So you've done this before?""Yes. Nearly a dozen times."Thank fuck for that. No having to explain to certain people that they were very much dead.





	Old Ghosts

Lark had expected herself to be anxious her first night on the job. Or at least, she had expected herself to be anxious about staying in a deserted building overnight, surrounded by old ghosts, on the off chance that a group of vandals would sneak in for some old-fashioned fun. There was also the possibility of a fan hiring a mercenary or two to steal Commander Shepard’s model or something, but it had been a few years since such an attempt had been made. (The automated security systems were somehow much better at keeping them out than the teenagers and college-age kids. Lark would put it down to many of them being former duct rats, if she had to put it down to anything at all.) Of course, perhaps those attempts would be revitalized now that the museum was dedicating a whole wing rather than a wall.

What Lark _was_ anxious about was her impending first meeting with Dr. T’Soni. Dr. Liara T’Soni, former comrade and lover to Commander Shepard and, despite conflicting news reports, the Shadow Broker. And next to her, directing a challenging stare right at Lark, was Urdnot Grunt.

Grunt, Lark had met. Grunt, Lark had found, felt about her the way someone would feel about a cousin raised on the other side of the galaxy. The person you’d only see by accident when visiting someone else, the person you didn’t really know at all except for the little tidbits you’d heard second hand. She supposed it made sense, given that all she was to him was his friend’s niece’s girlfriend and his friend’s granddaughter’s girlfriend, a distance made greater by the fact that both friends had been dead for decades.

Thankfully, before Lark was forced by social convention to go up and greet them alone, her date returned. Lark hid a smile when she felt blue lips peck her cheek and a blue hand twine with her own.

“Irikah, look,” she mumbled, motioning to the asari and krogan standing to the side of the crowd.

Irikah gasped. “Hey!” she called, rushing towards them and dragging Lark along with her.

“Irikah,” Liara greeted, turning a beatific smile their way. But when she saw them, saw Irikah, it seemed to…fracture. “I am so sorry about your father. I wish I could have made it to his funeral. How are you and your mother faring?”

“I’m okay. She’s okay.”

“You look just like him.”

“Thank you, Liara,” Irikah said. She was much more subdued, now, and Lark couldn’t help but feel an ember of resentment spark in her heart. This was supposed to be a _good_ day, a day of celebration _and_ remembrance, and now it seemed as though all the colors and sounds had lost some of their vibrancy.

Lark reminded herself that she had not known Kolyat long. That Liara, being an asari and combat veteran, simply had to be used to burying friends.

“It was a good ceremony,” Grunt remarked.

“We’ll be sure to visit Oriana before we leave.” Then, changing the subject rather clumsily, she asked, “Who’s this?”

“I’m Lark, Irikah’s girlfriend. A pleasure to meet you,” Lark said with a solid shake of Liara’s hand and a friendly nod to Grunt. She counted it as a personal win when he returned the gesture.

“A pleasure indeed,” Liara drawled. “How long has this been going on?”

“Two years,” Irikah answered, expertly wrapping an arm around Lark’s considerably taller and broader shoulders.

“She’s strong. A good match,” Grunt assured.

“She certainly is,” Irikah agreed, turning an adoring gaze to Lark, who found herself flush with both pride and the love she had for this woman. Their kiss was sweet and chaste and full of something so wondrous it made Lark’s heart ache.

Grunt’s groan failed to sour the moment. “I meant _in battle_.”

Liara’s chuckle drew their attention to her, but whatever she was going to say was abandoned when they heard this announcement: “Good day, everyone! We would like to thank you for your patience. Now, we would like to cordially invite you to explore the brand-new branch of our museum dedicated to the Reaper War and its heroes with special attention to Commander Shepard, the human who thwarted the invasion on two separate occasions and. Well. I don’t want to spoil too much of the exhibit!”

“It hardly seems real,” Liara muttered.

Though the question burned at the back of her throat, Lark resisted asking what she meant. If neither Grunt nor Irikah were going to, then she definitely shouldn’t.

“C’mon, Iri,” Lark whispered once most everyone else had vanished into the new corridor.

There was no discussion of it, but Lark and Irikah and Grunt and Liara moved forth as one group. “Lark’s going to be working here starting tonight,” Irikah told the others.

“That so?” Liara asked.

“Yeah, as a night guard,” Lark said. “The only night guard.”

“Sounds rather lonesome.”

Lark shrugged. “I like the quiet. Plus, I’ll still be on the same sleep schedule as Irikah.”

Liara hummed. “Not too many places offer night-time positions.”

When they entered the wing, everyone froze. On either side of the entrance was a set of stairs leading up, for the wing had two different levels of walkways that crisscrossed above their heads, running along walls dotted with exhibits. Ones for the collectors, ones for the geth heretics, ones for Cerberus, and ones for notable reapers like Harbinger and Sovereign (otherwise known as Nazara). There were sections on the cure of the Krogan Genophage and ones on the second and final conflict between the quarians and the geth. There were memorials. And all of these things were massive enough for Lark to make them out from the ground floor, which was peppered with the figures of Commander Shepard and her squad.

Lark found her gaze catching on Grunt’s and Liara’s doubles. So easy, to know that the krogan and asari were ancient and ageless. So startling, to see statues of them on pedestals, and realize they look the same now as they did so long ago.

“Shepard…” Liara breathed, but Lark’s attention was on Irikah, who had approached Miranda Lawson’s statuette during Lark’s distraction. If Grunt hadn’t been standing beside her, she would be worried. Well, more worried.

“Lark,” Liara said, grasping Lark’s forearm with shaking hands, “would you mind coming to see her with me?”

“Of course not.”

Liara was silent their short trek over, her grip at times painful and other times loose enough Lark almost didn’t notice it. The anxiety was back with an intensity she hadn’t felt in some time; she shouldn’t be here, she thought. One of the others should, or someone who’d known her. In a kinder galaxy, Shepard would be here, alive and well and as young as the day Liara had met her. Lark wondered if this would have been easier, had Shepard survived the Crucible and lived for another sixty years, each day spent at Liara’s side. If Liara could have borne her children and raised them alongside her, if Liara could have watched Shepard’s hair go gray and her face grow wrinkly. Or perhaps it would have made everything worse.

Lark had always been described as overly empathetic, but never before had she felt such sadness on someone else’s behalf. She couldn’t help but place herself in Liara’s shoes and Irikah’s in Shepard’s.

“They talk about her like she’s a god,” Liara was saying.

“Well,” Lark began, pretending her voice wasn’t shaking, “she was certainly godlike.”

Liara snorted. “I imagine you must have complicated feelings about her.”

“Because of Torfan and the Bahak system?”

“Yes.”

Lark considered it. “I’ll admit to some bitterness, but I honestly don’t think about it much. My people are too few and broken to concern ourselves with the past.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“To be clear, I blame the reapers for the former and the hegemony for the latter.”

“She killed my mother. Did you know that?”

Lark hesitated, thought about what she should say, and then settled for a nod.

“Did you know that I helped her?”

Lark again hesitated, thought about what she should say, and then settled for a quiet, “No.”

Silence reigned for a very long five seconds. Finally, Lark asked, “Do you regret it?”

“Yes. But it had to be done.” Liara dragged her eyes away from Shepard, turned to look at her. “She tried to do what was right, but sometimes…”

With a nod, Lark agreed, “She was just a person, and people mess up sometimes.”

Liara nodded back. “And sometimes there is no other way. It was one of the hardest lessons I learned from her. That sometimes the cost of victory is so great it doesn’t feel like a victory at all.” She huffed. “It sounds so simple, so obvious, saying it aloud.”

Lark very much didn’t know what to say. “Every day is a victory, whether it feels like one or not,” she eventually settled on. She wanted to take it back even while she was still saying it.

But Liara responded with something not unlike a smile. “Another thing I learned from her. I’m glad you learned it while you’re still young.”

Lark rolled her eyes. “’Young’? I’m almost thirty!”

“You’re not helping your case.” A beat passed, and then Liara again changed the subject. “What do you want from life, Lark? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Don’t know,” Lark admitted with a shrug. “Stable job, two kids, three-bedroom apartment, communal garden, my girlfriend’s last name, regular visits from my dads…Y’know, normal, boring stuff.”

“Sounds perfect,” Liara breathed. “I can picture it now.”

Nearby yelling had Lark turn in place, but it was just Grunt and Irikah messing around. Headbutting each other. “Is that safe?” she wondered.

“Probably not,” Liara intoned. “Lead the way, Lark Krios.”

“I’m not Lark Krios _yet._ ”

“I have faith in you.”

* * *

  
Lark had been the one to suggest going to see the new wing on opening day rather than any other. She reasoned that she would prefer her first time seeing it be with her than alone, and also that she should have a general idea of the look of the place before starting to work there.

She had not expected the yawning emptiness the place now possessed. She had not expected the fear she felt as she kept looking at the dormant-but-theoretically-rebuilt remains of the Conduit. She had not expected the event that occurred early into her shift.

It lit up bright, baby blue, the color of Irikah's biotics, its rings spinning madly round and round and the most unholy grinding noise came from within--something was wrong with it.

Because she was a curious creature, Lark walked towards it instead of away. A pulse erupted from it--she shrieked, tensed for pain, but it passed right through her without her feeling a thing--and suddenly she wasn't alone.

Gunfire exploded around her. Screams, shouts, screeching echoed out as she rushed for the flimsy cover of the photo booth. Somehow, she made it with all her limbs intact and all of her blood on the inside of her body. Somehow, she also made it without getting a real glance of the enemies, her training forgotten in the rush of panic. Nothing like this was supposed to happen at a _museum_ of all places!

Going by the noises she heard--and the fact she was still alive--there were at least two sides out there, so, not a coordinated assault. Unless they both had _really_ awful luck. She considered looking out the curtain, but thoughts of Irikah kept her from taking the risk. Back-up. She needed back-up.

Lark blocked out what she could and got on the line with C-Sec.

"Hello, this is Officer Vakarian speaking. How can I help?"

"I'm at the-"

She stopped, frozen still as a five-fingered hand reached in and yanked her out. As her eyes readjusted to the light, she recognized both the gun in her face and the arm pinning her to the booth. And who didn't know that face?

"Commander Shepard?"

"Ma'am?" Vakarian asked. Distantly, she thought he might have been asking that for some time.

"Uh, yes, I'm fine. Sorry, I thought I was being followed home but it was just a keeper."

"What was that about a Shepard?"

"The light from one of them gave it away. I think it's doing maintenance on it or something?"

The actual _alive_ Commander Shepard nodded in approval, dropping the gun. She also took Lark's gun. Of course. Not that it would've been much help, but it would've been nice to have it.

"I'm happy to hear you're not in any danger, ma'am. Please, do call if you ever feel you are."

"Okay."

"If you want, I could send an officer down to escort you the rest of the way home. Or I could stay on the line with you."

Lark chuckled. "Thanks, but I think I'll be fine."

"Goodnight."

"You, too."

And so she was left with Commander Shepard. And friends.

They were there, all of them. Wrex and Tali'Zorah and Legion and Zaeed and so many more. Kai Leng, she saw, had been pretty much torn apart, but he was still breathing. And sneering at her. _Ugh_ , right back at him.

The geth heretics were watching from up high, wary but not aggressive. Collectors, without a reaper to control them, stood at their display, unmoving and unseeing. She made a mental note to thank every deity under the sun later for the fact no physical models of reapers had been made. Their sheer size made them too costly.

Her eyes caught next upon Thane, Miranda. Familiar faces she had never seen so...Alive. It was terribly unfair that she was meeting Irikah's family before she did.

Then, there was the Illusive Man, sadly intact and drinking-

"Hey! That's mine!"

Shepard laughed and let her go--and, okay, somehow she'd forgotten she was being held captive.

Back to freaking out.

"You...What--how?"

Wrex chuckled. Bastard. Like it was a cue, the group disintegrated, the focus changing from Lark to socializing and screwing around. She'd feel annoyed about it if she wasn't so relieved.  
Her breath caught when she saw Liara. So young, and effusing an alien happiness. Lark watched her peck Shepard's cheek, watched as they curled around each other in a tight, loving embrace, and she felt _sick._

"We do not know," Liara said. "Any time we are in a certain radius of the Conduit after hours, we come back to life."

"So you've done this before?"

"Yes. Nearly a dozen times."

Thank fuck for that. No having to explain to certain people that they were very much dead.

"Why haven't you tried to tell anyone?"

"We don't want to," Shepard said. "My heart might be beating right now, but I'm over. Done. The galaxy has changed, and none of us can get far before turning fake. You are not to tell _anyone_. Understand?"

And, okay, definitely some implied violence there Lark would prefer avoiding, but, "What about my girlfriend? Her name's Irikah. Irikah _Krios_."

Shepard looked towards the green man, expression pained. Lark followed her gaze. It was strange, seeing familiar features in another color than familiar, precious blue. She hadn't noticed them in pictures.

"Of course you can tell her," Liara said. "Krios or not. But, since she is a Krios, I would strongly advise you bring her."

Her gun was returned to her. A peace offering. 

* * *

  
Lark found herself largely ignored by the bulk of the group. She didn't mind; she had nothing in common with them. She was glad not to.

Irikah didn't come around often; she had her own work, and felt awkward around the giants of the past besides. Family or not, everyone here was a stranger. Most of them hadn't even known Kolyat--their memories ended with the end of the war. Lark had offered to quit, to move wards or leave the Citadel entirely, but Irikah had refused. Vehemently.

It wasn't a week before she was glad Irikah had. The geth heretics made for surprisingly easy conversation partners and took perverse pleasure in kicking her ass at poker; it was a good thing they didn't play for money, 'cause she would be homeless and without a single thing to her name, including the clothes on her back. Occasionally Legion, Zaeed, Kaidan, and Jack joined with the added rule that mentions of reapers or Saren put them out of the game. Things didn't...flow as easily with the added company, though, so often the latter three would organize their own game. Legion himself was determined to make nice with his brethren, and with time he succeeded. It was a beautiful thing to witness. She wondered if they would've cried, had they tear ducts. 

**Author's Note:**

> The second half of this was rewritten after my computer died. I don't think this version stands up to the original--I couldn't find where it was going--but I think it's still worth something, even if I admit I got a little tired of it.


End file.
